When a play ends with a chorus of black-clad Mediterranean women, you
don't expect them to be rejoicing; but that's the case in Tennessee Williams'
Lorca-in-reverse tale, when the widow Serafina finally emerges from her
misplaced mourning on discovering that – to be crassly reductive – all
she really needed was a good shag. Once again Peter Hall achieves
an unsettling mix of minutely observed details and blatant theatrical gestures;
among the latter must be counted Stephen Edwards' often jarringly obtrusive
score.

Julie Walters is at her best when resisting the temptation to be Julie
Walters: her jerkier moves and grimaces cheat us of a potential performance
of considerable power and sensuality. One clings to mistaken notions that
Williams shouldn't be this funny, but this play works through laughter
of affirmation, and on that count Hall's production must be adjudged a
success.